


Guardian Angel

by angededesespoir



Series: Mercy76 Week [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other, Serious Injuries, blood mention, needle mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9946100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angededesespoir/pseuds/angededesespoir
Summary: She never stopped looking after him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _A/N: Day 4- Reunion._
> 
> _(Can also be read on[Tumblr](http://angededesespoir.tumblr.com/post/157740798855/guardian-angel).)_

He slowly blinks, the world a blur before his eyes- worse than usual; the groan he emits- deep, distorted.  

It takes him awhile to start registering details.  Like that he’s not wearing his mask and there’s something sticky dried on his face.  The metal he’s laying on is cool.  Either it’s night or he’s somewhere inside- he can’t tell.  The view above him is a massive smudge of grey and he can feel a cool breeze.  He shivers involuntary, then tenses in pain.

The stench of blood wafts through the air.  His head throbs, his abdomen hurts worse.

He hears footsteps- soft clicks of heels.  He’s still, waiting, panicking, preparing himself to fight.  Or at least attempt to.  

The figure stops by his side, shifts down closer to him.  He can’t make out the details, but he sees a glowing haze- yellow and gold, the shape vaguely resembling wings.

He widens his eyes, but does not move.  There’s something rough, cool, against his face.  Droplets drip down his cheek, reaching his chin, and dipping to fall to his neck.

After awhile the person stops, moves back.

He’s pretty sure he knows who it is, even if he can't completely see them.

“A-Ange-”  he coughs.  Looks like he throat was dryer than he realized.

“Shhhh.” He feels a hand - soft, gentle - rub his cheek. There’s words, thick and accented, that he can’t process. They have a slight roughness to them, but the manner they’re spoken in is soothing. 

He tenses when he feels his arm being pricked.  He doesn’t have the energy or coordination to resist.

He feels pressure, the world swimming further out of focus.

He thinks he makes out the words, “Rest, Jack.”  Then he’s swallowed by darkness.

\--

There is no one but himself in the warehouse when he regains consciousness.  


\--

Sometimes he feels her watching over him from a distance, just like a real guardian angel.

He never sees her, though.

But sometimes he’ll wake up after a particularly bad fight to find his wounds tended to, or he’ll discover medication and supplies by his bedside.

He’s thankful, even though it hurts.

Just another reminder of the past, and all he’s lost.

\--

Ana and Jack had elected to ignore the recall message.  That is, until they encountered their old team (along with some new faces).

When the fight’s done, they meet face-to-face.  There are varying reactions, but it’s Reinhardt’s that get to them both the most.

He’s down on his knees, sobbing, his head buried into Ana’s shoulder as she tries to sooth him.  He has one arm around her, one tightly around Jack, as if he were terrified that if he let up, let go for a second, they’d slip away from him again.

Jack knows how painful and yet how relieving this moment must be for him, for everyone.  He still can’t find the right words to say; doesn’t know how he can possibly go about apologizing and making up for all he’s done, all the pain he’s caused.

He leans into the embrace, awkwardly pats the man’s back.  His words come out gruffer than intended, but it’s something.  The grip around him tightens to an almost painful degree.  Reinhardt’s sobs shudder through him.

He dares to look up at the array of faces focused on the three of them.

He sees Angela standing off aways, wings outstretched, staff at the ready.  She meets his eyes and smiles softly, sadly.

\--

Later, after everyone else has finished bombarding him and gone to bed, Mercy finds him shooting targets.

He stops when he hears the familiar click of heels.

He waits, lets her approach, her hand reaching to lightly touch his arm.

“How are you doing, Jack?”  


“Fine.  Busy, tired.  There’s much to be done.”  


She nods.  “You should rest, then.  No one wants you to run yourself ragged.”  
  
The hand continues its’ soothing ministrations.  It’s familiar- painfully so.  He’s used to this touch coming in his most vulnerable moments, when he’s weak and wonders how much longer he can keep fighting.  He can hear the echos of past reassurance- the _‘I’m watching over you’_ s and the _‘You’ll be fine’_ s and the _‘You did well, Jack’_ s.

The hand stops, slides off.  The memories fade; the present comes back.

“It’s nice to see you home.”

Jack doesn’t quite agree.  He still thinks he shouldn’t be here (in more ways than one).

He nods, anyway.

He dares to look at her face, dares to look into the eyes that scream regret and sadness...and love and hope.  

He thinks that if he weren’t wearing a mask, she’d be seeing the same sight.

He reaches out to squeeze her shoulder gently.  “It’s good to see you.”

He releases his hold, gives a few pats as begins walking.

“Goodnight, Jack.”

“’Night.”

She watches him go- not the first time; not the last.

\--

It takes him awhile to fall asleep.  Memories bubble up, bleeding into eachother.   A host of people and emotions.  

He remembers Ana soothing him after bad missions, like the one where he failed to protect Liao, and it cost the man his life.   He remembers drinking with Reinhardt and Torbjörn in celebration of the most successful missions.  He remembers children- laughing, playing, and the way the tears softly flowed down Fareeha’s cheeks at her mother’s funeral.  Remembers how strong she was, helping Reinhardt through his grief.  Thoughts of cheesy birthday games with Lena and Winston float through his head.

And then there’s Gabe.  At his back- protection, security, love.  The vows spoken, the sound of Reinhardt weeping in joy, the exchanging of rings, and the kiss- like a promise all on its own. He thinks about them curled together in their shared bed, tender touches, and a short respite.

He remembers his mistakes.  The fights- escalating.  The empty bed.  The avoidance.

They still wear their rings, but it’s like they’re not even married.  Especially when Gabe finally suggests that they take a break.  

He remembers the first time Angela kisses him.  Remembers the first time he kisses back.  

It’s the only time.

He feels guilty.  He knows they’re both allowed to see other people, but his heart still longs to reconcile with Gabriel.  He knows he’s in too much turmoil to give Angela the love and care she deserves.

He tries to explain, the words sincere, but not coming easy.

He remembers the look in her eyes, remembers the feel of her arms around him. 

 It’s like daggers through his heart.

She continues to support him, look after him throughout the years.

He can’t understand why.  Why him of all people?

Fate is cruel, he thinks.

The ring is heavy, hanging from his neck.  And his heart still aches for the love he does not deserve.

\--

He wakes up to breakfast on his side table. 

It brings back memories of better times.


End file.
